


It was a Dark and Stormy Night

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 23:49:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm so, so, very sorry...</p><p>And Sparky beta'd, but I refluffed, so any errors are mine alone</p>
            </blockquote>





	It was a Dark and Stormy Night

_Just once I’d like to wake up without a headache_ was the first thought that popped into Illya’s head as he woke.  The fact that he couldn’t move didn’t both him as much as the dull throb did.  For a moment, he continued to play possum, giving him a chance to analyze the sounds around him.

“Nice try, partner, but they know you are awake.”  Napoleon’s voice has an edge to its lightness. 

 “I was afraid of that.”  Illya opened his eyes and looked around the lab where they were being currently held.  Both of them were strapped to gurneys, but they were still fully clothed and that was a change.  The walls were lined with equipment, but they were too far away for Illya to be able to read them.  “This looks like something out of a low-budget horror movie that you Americans are so fond of.”

“Says the man who always manages to make the horror film double feature at the Bijou.”  Napoleon was struggling within his restraints.  “This isn’t the most effectively that I’ve been tied up.  I can very nearly…”  He squirmed.  “But not quite.”

Illya frowned as his hand explored the part of his coat it could reach.  “And they didn’t unarm us?  How bizarre.” There was a low rumbling outside and it took Illya a moment to place the sound.  It was the surf.  “Sound like surf’s up.”  He managed to work a small blade free from the lining of his jacket and began the saw away at the leather strap

“We are in a dungeon of a castle on the edge of a cliff.  I am expecting Frankenstein’s monster any minute now.

“Any idea what we are doing here? The last thing I remember was being in that bakery in Geneva.”

“No idea, although I have a feeling our napoleons were drugged.”

“There’s a joke in there somewhere that I might have the facilities to make in a moment.  “Any idea where we are, besides the obvious?”

“You are in my lab.”  Both men had to crane their head in the direction of the voice.  A lab-coated individual was wheeling a covered cart towards them.  Illya stilled in his attempt to escape.  “I am Doctor Victor.”

Napoleon grimaced.  “Let me guess, your first name is Frankenstein.”

“No, it’s Harold, actually, but I am touched by your dismal and inane attempt at humor.  A man should go to his death happy.”  Victor stopped in from of them.  “Are you both resting comfortably?”

“I’m guessing that’s not room service,” Illya muttered.

“It is the beginning of the end for UNCLE,” Dr. Victor said, flatly.  His hair was shot with gray and he looked about four days short of a good sleep.  “You are about to witness the culmination of two decades of work.”

“Gee, you know, I, ah, have a car standing by.  Maybe I could just read about it in the paper.”

“That’s a good joke, Mr. Solo, but I have a need for both you and Mr. Kuryakin.  You are going to be my guests at my supreme moment of greatness and bear witness to the birth of a new era of THRUSH.”

“Lucky us,” Illya muttered.  “What’s under the lid?”

“Our most esteemed guest.”  The lid was pulled back and Napoleon automatically reacted, trying to pull free of his straps.  Illya hissed and turned his head. 

“What is that?” Illya asked without looking back.

“This is not a what but a who, sir,” The scientist snapped and he stepped forward to slap Illya in the face, then grabbed his chin and force his head around to stare at the cart.  Upon it was a head, with various tubes running in and out of it.  “You will show respect.”

“To a decapitated head, not likely.”  This earned Illya another slap.

“Not a head.  This is our supreme leader.  This is the genius who created THRUSH.”

Napoleon barked a laugh.  “No, no, no, he’s dead.  Alexander Waverly killed him years ago.”

“Not quite.” The voice was mechanical and Illya’s eyes widened when he realized the head was staring at him.  “I have been running THRUSH like this for years.”

“You have got to be joking,” Illya said, dead pan.  “Although, it would explain a lot.”

“Not at all.”  Victor adjusted one of the tubes feeding into the neck of the head.  “You UNCLE dogs beheaded him and left him for dead.  You didn’t count on my genius.  I was able to keep the brain functioning until such a time that I was able to return consciousness to him.  I have again given him a voice and he has given us purpose.  Now you will stand witness to my greatest triumph.”

“I can’t wait.” Napoleon murmured and slid his expression over to Illya, who was again working on his restraints.

“Are you ready, my Lord Supreme?”

“Yes…”

Victor picked up a beaker and poured a clear liquid into a small cup.  He held it to the lips of the head and waited for the mouth to slowly open.  He poured it in and stood back.  “It will only take a moment.

With a scream, suddenly a fully formed torso appeared at the base of the neck.   The man looked down and took a deep breath as if trying to process the fact.   “More!” he demanded and opened his mouth.

Victor grabbed a chair and stood upon it to pour more fluid into the man’s mouth, repeating the process and abruptly two thickly-corded arms sprang from the torso.  With a laugh, the hands explored the face and the body.  He snatched up the beaker from Victor’s hands and drank from it.

“No, my Lord!  Slowly!”

Two muscular legs grew from the torso and, complete and whole, the man stood before Napoleon and Illya.  With a cry of delight, he jumped down from the cart and spun, holding his arms to the sky.  Victor climbed from the chair, his brow furrowed with worry.  “Too much.  He drank too much.”

“I am free!  I am again!” he shrieked to the heavens.

“No one is ever going to believe us,” Napoleon muttered.

The man screamed with delight and began to race around the room, suddenly overwhelmed with his new body and a total sense of freedom.  He burst from the room and Victor ran after him.

“My lord, come back.  Be calm!  You must let the serum work!”

“Illya!” Napoleon whispered.

“I’m almost… there!”  Illya got his arms free and ripped the strap from his body.  Rapidly he undid the rest of the straps and quickly freed Napoleon.

Together, they ran from the room and out into the twilight.  

The man was running through the waist high grass and shouting and waving his arms, exuberant with life.  Victor chased after him.

“Come back, come back!  You mustn’t over-excite yourself!”  Victor caught up with him at the cliff’s edge and gestured toward the castle.  “My Lord, you need to be still.”

“I have been still for too long.  Now, UNCLE and the world will know my wrath.  Alexander Waverly is a dead man even as I speak his name.”  The man turned and laughed, then suddenly his arms started to windmill as he fell backwards over the cliff.

“No,” Victor screamed and reached for the man, only to be caught and pulled over with him.  

Napoleon and Illya raced up to the edge of the cliff and cautiously looked over it at the two broken bodies at the bottom of the cliff.

“Gosh, Napoleon muttered.  “I guess he should have quit while he was a head.”


End file.
